Superman
by Spencer5460
Summary: Why did Starsky shoot up the kidnappers' car and why did Joe Durniak pay for his father's funeral anyway? This story is my own explanation.


Thanks to Intrigueing for her continual wisdom and insight - plus helping me look like I actually know how to use quotation marks. Thanks always to Sandybeliever, Rescue45 and the whole fanfictastic bunch.

**SUPERMAN**

**Prologue **

He saw the man in the plaid shirt thrown into the store front window at the same time as he heard the crack of the rifle and the shattering of glass. Instantly his vision tunneled and his ability to reason short-circuited. He lay the dirt bike down in the alley and pulled his rifle out of the make shift holster strapped to its side. He turned, kneeled, and took careful took aim at the sedan from where the shot had come. A squeeze of the trigger and a second later the car exploded into flames. Whether the passengers were able to escape was of no importance. Neither was the fate of the unfortunate kidnapped girl or her despairing father who had put his faith in him and his partner to save her. Because if his partner, the man in plaid now crumpled amidst the fractured glass, was dead, nothing would ever matter to him again. And his promise, like the glass, would be forever broken.

**Chapter 1**

"_We. . .are all in the same boat, upon a stormy sea. We owe to each other a terrible and tragic loyalty." __All Things Considered_

_G.K. Chesterton_

Detective David Starsky figured he'd be called into Internal Affairs sooner or later. Any time anyone was killed by a police weapon IA had to investigate. Heaven knows he and his fair-haired partner had sat on the opposite side of Investigator Dryden's desk answering the hard questions often enough, but this time was different. This time Dryden wouldn't like his answers because they made sense only to him. And to his partner, of course. But Hutch wasn't talking. His partner was sitting at his side, shoulder to shoulder, as always. But the less said, the better. They had rescued the girl, her father had been overjoyed, and they had put two scumball kidnappers out of business permanently. The bullet that had propelled Hutch through the glass window had been stopped from killing him by the bullet proof vest he had been wearing – the vest, in his panic, Starsky had completely discounted. Luck had been on their side that day.

"So you took aim at the rear tire and hit the gas tank, instead?"

Starsky tried to return Dryden's scrutinizing look as best he could without giving away anything that he didn't want to give. "That's right. I've told you a dozen times that's the way it went down."

"Maybe you need to spend some more time at the firing range, detective." Dryden sighed and looked down at his hands on the desk. "Look, I know you are two of the best detectives we've got. Together you've solved more cases this year than any other team in your department. You never back down or take the easy route. But you also can't continue to play Superman without getting tangled in your cape from time to time."

"Just what is it you want, Dryden?" Hutch leaned forward in his chair, his patience during the grilling of his partner coming to an end.

"For you, Detective Hutchinson, to keep a close eye on your partner." That'd be easy enough Starsky smiled to himself. After all, they were rarely out of each other's company.

"And for you, Detective Starsky," he paused here, "a few sessions with Charles Martin."

"What?" Starsky choked out, appalled. "The police shrink? I don't need to see a shrink!"

Starsky would have jumped up and stormed out if not for Hutch's gentle restraining hand on his knee. "That's not so, bad Starsk. Lots of people see a psychologist from time to time." Blue eyes locked assuringly onto blue.

"Yeah, _crazy_ people," he sputtered as he tried to gather himself. Hutch wouldn't want him to make the scene any worse than it was. "And I'm not crazy - those two kidnappers were."

"No one's saying you are, Detective Starsky. Just that you've been under a lot of pressure lately. Talking it out may help you to decompress." The IA investigator finished, sure now he'd have the man's cooperation. Alone, he would have been a handful, but the presence of the dark-haired man's partner steadied him. Dryden knew from previous experience that the door swung both ways.

You have no idea, thought Starsky. Just try watching the one person you love most in the world being blown through a glass window. It wasn't the first time Hutch had played with death, Starsky the unwitting referee. And half the time the bad guys were just turned around and put back on the streets. For once, if someone he loved was going to leave this earth, leave him behind again, Starsky wanted to make sure that the right guys paid.

Starsky looked to Hutch, then without turning away, gave his answer. "Okay, have it your way."

"Fine then," Dryden said as he stood and handed the counselor's business card to Starsky. I'll tell him to expect your call within the week."

"Terrific." Starsky grumbled as he accepted the card then stood and turned to leave, his partner close behind.

"Spend some time with Mr. Martin, Dave," said Dryden smoothly. "No need to waste it at the firing range. I believe we all know what a crack shot you are."

Mr. Martin, a slightly-built man pushing 60, had a friendly enough face and astute, gray eyes. Still, sitting on the worn, brown leather couch in his small but neat office made Starsky uncomfortable. "Relax, Detective Starsky, I promise to keep this as painless as possible," Mr. Martin was telling him.

"Yeah, that's what my dentist said just before my root canal," Starsky shot back. "I didn't believe him either."

Mr. Martin just smiled. Starsky got the impression the older man had heard it all during the course of his career. He and Hutch had come across some really weird shit over the years but Starsky bet this guy could match him story for story and then some.

"I've read through your record and I'm impressed." The psychologist started, obviously still attempting to put him at ease. "You've been a detective with the department nearly four years now. And a uniformed officer for three years before that." Mr. Martin looked down to the folder in his lap. "For most of those years you've been partnered with Ken Hutchinson. Is that correct?"

"Yeah, but can we keep Hutch out of this discussion?"

"Of course, it's just that I understand you two are pretty close," Mr. Martin continued. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Well, sure, everyone around here knows that. Look, Hutch is closer to me than a brother, but I said I'd rather not talk about that." If this guy wants to keep pushing about Hutch, I'm walking, he thought to himself.

"Okay, let's talk about your family, then." Mr. Martin continued smoothly.

"I'm sure that's all in your file there, too." This was starting to be worse than the dentist.

"I'd like to hear it from you."

"There's my mother, my younger brother, Nicky, and me. Nicky and Ma are back in New York."

"And your father?"

A chill slowly began in the pit of Starsky's stomach. "My father died when I was 13."

"I'm sorry, Dave," Mr. Martin sounded sincere. "How did it happen?"

Starsky glared at him, his indigo eyes darkening.

Mr. Martin was undeterred. "Sometimes it helps to talk about these things."

"He was shot." The simple word seemed all wrong to describe how Michael Starsky's body had been blown apart. The coffin had been kept closed at the funeral.

"A terrible loss for your family, I'm sure."

"What do ya think? My ma was a widow before forty with two little boys to take care of. After that, I guess I started to act a little wild so my ma sent me out here to live with my aunt and uncle. She thought gettin' me away from the neighborhood would help to straighten me out."

"And did it?"

"Well, what my aunt and uncle couldn't straighten, the army sure enough did."

"You spent some time in Vietnam, correct?"

Mr. Martin continued to have Starsky tell him about his teenage years, his stint in the army, the police academy. Finally, he talked about his latest work as a detective and how he felt about his job. Like a surgeon he tried to probe delicately into any issues that might be out of the ordinary. The hour finally passed uneventfully, if not quickly enough for Starsky.

At last, Mr. Martin finished the session with fatherly advice for the detective to not neglect any relaxing hobbies he might have, make time for family and friends, to not take any cases too personally. _Yeah, right._ Starsky prayed he hadn't said anything that would give him away, neglecting to schedule another appointment.

**Chapter 2**

"How about stopping off at Huggy's for a quick game of pool?" Hutch asked as Starsky drove him home. His partner had been unusually quiet ever since he had left the psychologist's office earlier that day.

"Not tonight, Blintz. I'm a little tired," Starsky felt Hutch's eyes on him at the uncharacteristic reply. Starsky was usually a bundle of irrepressible energy.

"Okay," Hutch played along, but not without a concerned look. "Maybe it _is_ a good idea to get a little extra shut eye. It's been a long week."

After dropping Hutch off at Venice Place, Starsky went directly home himself and made a quick bite to eat. He switched on the TV but couldn't quiet the thoughts that were whirling in his head. Thoughts that the visit with Mr. Martin had dredged up.

Starsky loved his job, but he was increasingly aware that he loved Hutch more. They had long since crossed the line between co-workers and friends. When had his job become less about being a detective and more about being Hutch's partner? It was like spring without baseball, peanut butter without jelly. Anything else was unthinkable.

They knew each other's moves, were in each other's heads. Before, he had always thought that was what had made them such a great team. Now, he wasn't so sure. There were few boundaries remaining between him and the tall blond, save one. Maybe in his and Hutch's world there were just some lines that should never be crossed.

Hutch had been the most important influence on his life since his father died. Their relationship was nearly a spiritual thing, something he'd never experienced before and most likely never would again, and he wasn't about to have some shrink try to dissect it. Starsky's eyes were drawn to a picture of his father and himself that he kept on a shelf. A dark child with a mop of curly hair clutched the hand of a man in a dated suit-coat, looking up at him like he was Santa Claus and Superman rolled into one. Starsky had been around five years old.

Things were so simple back then, he thought. His father was Starsky's own personal hero, keeping him safe with big, callused hands from any monsters that tried to hide under the bed. Then one day his father was gone and Starsky's whole world was ripped apart. Later, as he tried to piece together the puzzle of his father's life and death, he had learned more than he wanted to know.

The icy chill was back, growing in the pit of Starsky's stomach. It spread up through his chest, moving into his arms and legs. At last he felt his heart grow numb. He knew what he had to do.

The next morning Starsky still had little to say when he picked up his partner and drove in to the station as usual. The tight line of Starsky's lips defied Hutch's attempts at conversation, his concern becoming closer to worry by the minute. Even throwing in a joke about his prized red Torino didn't stir him.

Once they arrived, Hutch was barely able to grab a cup of coffee before Starsky knocked on Captain Dobey's door and motioned Hutch over. "Come in." Hearing Dobey's gruff invitation, Starsky opened the door to the captain's office. He noted his partner's quizzical look as he passed him in the doorway, then followed on his heels.

_Tear the bandage off quickly, _Starsky thought_. It always hurts less that way. _

"Ah, Cap'n, I need to talk to you and I wanted Hutch to hear this, too." Starsky quickly had the attention of both Hutch and their husky black captain.

"Out with it then, Starsky. I don't have all day." The big black man responded in his typical brusque fashion.

"Well, ah, Cap'n, ya see it's like this . . . " Starsky's stammering had him thinking he was even starting to sound like Hutch. _Tear the bandage off, tear the bandage off._

"I was thinkin' that, ah, I'd like to be reassigned to a new partner." Starsky kept his face averted from Hutch, already knowing what he'd see. The dropped jaw and widened eyes followed by a tightening all over, a transformation into the kind of stoic mask and unreadable expression they reserved for special occasions, like confronting felons and feds.

"You what!" Starsky's request caused even Dobey to jump up from his desk a fraction, laying both meaty hands palms down on his battered desk. "What's this all about?" His look jerked from Starsky to Hutch. Like a sail's telltales, Hutch had always been the best indicator of which way the wind blew when it came to Starsky. This time it was a whirlwind and Hutch himself was lost in the storm.

Turning slowly to Starsky, Hutch fought to hold himself in. "Yeah, partner, would you mind telling me what this is all about? If this is some kind of joke, it isn't very funny."

The bandage may have been off but the sting was only just beginning.

"It's no joke. It's just that we've been together a couple a' years now," he still didn't dare look toward the fair head in his peripheral vision, "and I was thinkin' that maybe it's time we switch it up a little. To keep things fresh. You know how it is. . ."

"No, I don't know how it is!" Dobey thundered. "You've had some crazy ideas before, Starsky, but splitting up one of my best teams takes the cake!"

"I'm serious this time." Starsky's words, delivered as they were with unexpectedly cool calculation, gave his captain pause and mashed salt into his partner's open wound.

Feeling the big man's hesitation he rushed to add, "If you don't put me with another partner, I'll request a transfer." Starsky turned and marched out of the office back to his desk in the squad room, effectively removing further discussion from the table.

Starsky was grateful Hutch stayed behind for a few minutes talking with Captain Dobey, allowing the dark haired detective to solidify his game face, such as it was. By the time Hutch came out to join him, he had occupied himself at the filing cabinet with a handful of assorted forms. He put a hand to Starsky's shoulder, turning him away from the busywork. "What's going on here that I don't know about?"

Starsky knew that if he looked too far into those Hutchinson blues his resolve would crumble. He shook him off and turned his attention back to the filing cabinet, replying as emotionlessly as he was able. "You heard what I told Dobey. I just think it'd be good if we had a change."

Hutch was undeterred. He leaned further in, his wisps of blond and Starsky's dark curls nearly blending. "I heard what you told Dobey, but I'm not Dobey. This is _me_ you're talking to."

The pain Starsky heard in his best friend's voice cut through him like jagged glass. The paper forms were now hopelessly mangled in his tightly clenched fists. "Please don't make this personal." Starsky's voice faltered.

"Personal! You're my goddamn best friend and you don't want me to make this personal?" Hutch pulled sharply away and for a moment his raised voice drew the attention of the other officers in the squad room before he brought himself back under control.

"Please . . . " Starsky hated how much the word sounded like begging.

"Okay, Starsk. Okay. If that's what you want." Hutch backed out of this partner's personal space and Starsky let out the breath of relief that he had been holding. "Dobey said he'd need some time to work things out and make arrangements for the personnel change. Until then, we'll just go on as normal."

Hutch straightened and gathered the remnants of his pride around him as he walked out.

Starsky wished someone could explain to him what normal was. He didn't think he ever really knew. Since his father had died, Starsky had wandered from one place to another, coast to coast and even overseas. He had never felt secure enough to call anywhere home, until now.

He and Hutch worked their cases as they always had while they waited for reassignments, wading through clues, questioning witnesses and typing up reports. But for them, that was about as far as normal got.

On the other hand, the closeness that Starsky had always before accepted as normal, for them at least, was now missing. The reassuring pats to the knee, the supportive squeezes of an arm. The transfer of energy with a hand to the middle as they passed. Just sitting next to his partner, Starsky felt the slightly wider space between them like the vastness of the Grand Canyon.

While Starsky tried to give Hutch his space, the urge to confer with him over a case or even share a funny story over a cup of bad coffee was overwhelming. Maintaining his distance felt foreign, even unnatural.

His first thoughts in the morning so often included Hutch and what they were going to do that day. His last thoughts in the evening drifted back to Hutch in one way or another. Hutch had become that much a part of him.

Worst of all was his partner's eyes. While before he and Hutch could have whole conversations without saying a word, the beautiful sky blue was now clouded over with something ugly.

Now Starsky sat in his apartment alone, listening to the walls. That, he knew, was definitely not normal. Not like sharing beer and pizza, a stopover at The Pits, or even the competition of a board game – cheating kept within acceptable limits. A model ship, a gift from Hutch at his last birthday, sat half-finished on his desk. His Nikon gathered dust.

Sleep became hard and harder to find. Who were the good guys and who were the bad guys? Did it even matter anymore? The faces were beginning to blur and spin. His father, Hutch, Joe Durniak, his army buddies, even the snitches on the street.

He tossed and turned and dreamed of a dark-haired man in a dated suit and tie crumpling before him in a heap as gunfire tore through his chest. Starsky screamed and tried to gather the man to him. But when he pulled the man up, his hair was no longer dark and curly but soft and fair.

**Chapter 3**

Starsky came into work late the next Monday morning. The sound of Hutch and their captain plus a third voice he didn't recognize talking together drew him to Dobey's office. Out of habit he went to join his partner, but was brought up short. As he walked in the men stopped in mid-conversation and turned to look at Starsky. He quickly realized that his presence was not required or even, taking in the shaded emotions on Hutch's face, wanted.

"You can come in, Starsky," Dobey cleared his throat and Starsky thought he sounded about as close to embarrassed as was possible for the forceful captain. "I was just introducing Ken to Detective Robertson."

_Ken_, thought Starsky, _like a stranger. _ A sharp pain stabbed him deep in the chest. For a second he was oblivious to the new man's hand being extended toward him. Starsky took the measure of Detective Robertson, a man in his late thirties. He was tall, maybe even taller than Hutch, with close-cropped brown hair and clear eyes, dressed in conservative grey slacks and white button-down shirt.

"This is Detective Starsky," Dobey continued as Robertson slowly put his hand down. "Detective Robertson worked vice in Burbank and is wanting to move into homicide. I thought he might ride along with Hutchinson for a couple of days just to see how things work out."

"With Hutch?" Like a sucker punch, Dobey's announcement caught him hard, hitting him where he was most vulnerable. Someone else would be riding with Hutch today. _His_ Hutch. For a moment, the world tilted and Starsky found himself leaning heavily forward to grasp at the edge of the big desk.

"I realize you are the one who made the change request, but - Starsky are you alright?" Dobey suddenly noticed the detective's unsteady movement.

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure," Starsky reached for his composure and clung to it. He had wanted this after all. For he and Hutch to be separated was for the best. Of course it was. He had promised. When he looked up and couldn't help himself. His eyes were drawn toward Hutch like a magnet. Starsky saw concern in his former partner's eyes, the silently conveyed plea of "_tell me what's going on_?" And then it was gone - replaced by the cool mask.

Turning away from Starsky and toward Robertson, Hutch offered with smooth professionalism, "I'll take you around in my car today and show you the hot spots."

"Don't bother taking _his_ car. You'd be lucky to make it around the corner." Starsky put in, but the old line fell flat.

"And why is that?" asked Robertson.

"Don't mind him, Robertson. My LTD is perfectly fine." Hutch glared blue ice at Starsky. _Let it go_.

"I understand," Robertson smiled. "I have an old Ford myself."

"You wouldn't want to get caught dead in the ridiculous red tomato he drives." Starsky winced at the retort as Hutch and the new man headed out of the office and down the corridor.

"And don't let him take to you that organic juice bar for lunch," Starsky felt compelled to call out after them.

"Organic juice bar. Is there one of those around here?" He heard Robertson ask. "I've been trying to eat healthier . . . " Their conversation faded away as Starsky went back into the squad room. He sat down determined to attack the reports piled between his and Hutch's desks but made little headway over the next few hours. He found himself continually distracted by the calls coming garbled through the squad room's police radio, dreading to hear the words "Zebra Three" and even worse, his partner answering without him.

This was his new normal he told himself. The way it had to be. Robertson and Hutch seemed like they'd work out well together and Dobey would be assigning him to a new partner as well by the end of the month. His promise would be kept and that was what mattered.

It was the end of a long work week and Starsky was more than ready to go home. Hutch and Robertson were also finishing up for the day. Starsky watched them file away the last of the day's paperwork, making comments back and forth about some leads to be followed up on Monday.

On a normal weekend, he and Hutch would have been planning for a double date or house party with a few friends. But this was the _new_ normal, Starsky reminded himself. Not even was Hutch no longer his partner, he doubted whether Hutch was even still his friend.

This is ridiculous, he chided himself. Our friendship doesn't have to end because our job takes us in different directions. He screwed his courage together and approached Hutch to suggest an evening game of pool."Just because we won't be partners doesn't mean we can't still be friends," The words hung awkwardly in the air between them.

"I don't know if I can do that, Starsk." Hutch's eyes held a toxic sludge of betrayal, hurt and anger. _There's something you're not telling me and we've never kept secrets before._ Hutch held out the line to his partner but Starsky was unable to grab hold. With no response forthcoming, Hutch turned and walked away.

"Starsky, I'd like to see you in my office before you leave," Captain Dobey interrupted and the moment gone.

"Sure, Cap'n," Starsky responded and followed him in, for once grateful to be called into the privacy of the captain's inner room.

"Close the door and sit down." When his captain spoke like that, it was never good. He closed the door and sat with trepidation on the edge of the vinyl chair, trying to shake off the lop-sided feeling that now continually plagued him.

"I wanted to let you know that I have someone coming in on loan next week who I am considering partnering with you." Dobey watched the dark haired detective closely as he delivered his message.

Starsky felt his mouth go dry and his stomach twist. "Okay," he managed to respond.

"But before this goes any further, I want to talk to you."

"About what?"

"About what's going on with you and Hutch." As Starsky heard Dobey's switch into his Father O'Brien voice he wrestled his demons to stay in the chair.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't give me that bullshit." So much for Father O'Brien. "You've been acting strangely ever since the Haymes case and your visit to the police shrink. Now, I know everything that was said was confidential and I don't intend to break that confidence, but this thing has gone too far."

"You're right, Captain," Starsky's voice took on an angry edge. "It isn't any of your business."

"What _is_ my business is when my best team breaks apart for no good reason." Dobey met and raised Starsky with a harsh tone of his own.

"I'll be the judge of whether my reasons are good enough or not!" Without Hutch's gentle touch to settle him, Starsky found himself shouting – at his captain, no less.

"Look, Starsky, I humored you with a change for a few weeks, thinking that would be enough to straighten you out. But this situation is getting out of hand. You better give this thing some serious consideration over the weekend before a change is made that can't be undone. And if this is personal, _don't_ take it out on _Hutch_! He doesn't deserve it." With that, Dobey sat back down behind his desk, effectively dismissing the hot-tempered detective.

Starsky nearly knocked over the chair in his haste to leave the room.

**Chapter 4**

"_The only people to whom I owe my loyalty are those who never made me question theirs." Anon._

When his phone rang around 2 am Starsky hadn't been asleep for long. Sleep was no longer a comforting retreat but a shadowy, haunted place. He almost welcomed the reprieve as he reached to answer it. "Starsky," he spoke into the receiver.

"It's Huggy." The partners' part-time informant and full-time friend was on other end.

"What's up?" Starsky made his way to sitting as he became more fully alert.

"I think you should get over here," Huggy said, referring to his bar, The Pits.

"Yeah? Why's that."

"Because I'd like to close up for the night and your blond better half is here in no condition to drive."

"Hutch? Is he okay?" Starsky felt a jolt to his gut as if a heavyweight just threw him an unexpected punch.

"Well, he's feeling no pain, if that's what you're asking, but in my humble opinion, he's far from alright."

"What are you talkin' about?" Receiver tucked under his chin, Starsky leaned over to pick up yesterday's jeans from the floor.

"Well, he came in here tonight about nine and hasn't stopped pounding drinks since."

"Why didn't you stop serving him?" A shirt was yanked out of a dresser drawer.

"You know Hutch. If he wants something, he doesn't take a no easy."

Just as Starsky was about to go for his keys a painful thought crossed his mind. "Uh, Hug? Maybe you should just call him a cab. He might not be thrilled to have me show up right now."

"First off, Starsky, you know I'm too cheap for a cab." Huggy responded with his usual repartee, then added somewhat softer, "He looks like he could use a friend."

_A friend. Is that what I am? _ "I'll be there in twenty."

In fifteen, Starsky walked through the door of The Pits, where Huggy and a couple of weary waitresses were working to close up for the night.

'What rock did you crawl out from under?" The lanky black proprietor asked Starsky as he looked him up and down, taking in the darkly circled eyes and clothes that even Starsky would call rumpled. "I thought Hutch was lookin' rough but you sure don't look much better."

"I missed my salon appointment. Where's Hutch?" Huggy pointed Starsky to a booth toward the back where the familiar blond head was slumped to the table.

Starksy approached the booth wordlessly and put his hand gently to Hutch's shoulder and felt him flinch ever so slightly at the touch. Now that he was here, the earlier jolt to his gut had lowered to a six on the pain chart. "Time to go home now, ya big lug."

The blond head raised up, his eyes failing to fully focus. "Starsk?"

"In the flesh. Now let's get outta here so Huggy can finish closing."

"No, don' wanna go home."

"Well, ya have to." Starsky settled his hand on top of Hutch's down-turned head, allowing his fingers to comb through the softness of his hair. After a moment he removed it and used both hands to pull at the taller man under his arms, barely able to bring him to his feet. He then put his arm firmly around his waist and Hutch wobbled into him heavily, nearly causing Starsky to go down.

"You're gonna have to help, Hutch. I can't do this alone."

"Do this alone," Hutch repeated thickly.

"Right. Ya gotta help me, so come on." With Hutch half-walking and Starsky half-carrying, they made it out to Starsky's car. Starsky opened the passenger side door and pushed Hutch in, then leaned across him to buckle the seat belt.

When Starsky got into the driver's seat and the engine came to life, Hutch mumbled what sounded to Starsky like "tomato."

"Yeah, it's the tomato and I'm Starsky and you're Hutch and I'm takin' you home."

"I miss the tomato."

"I'll be sure to let it know."

Maneuvering an inebriated Hutch up the stairs at Venice Place wasn't an easy task but Starsky managed to make it one step at a time. At the top he continued to hang on to his swaying partner while he reached for the key above the door. Once inside, they collapsed together onto the couch. The action seemed to rouse Hutch somewhat. He blinked heavily and looked at Starsky as if just realizing who he was. "Starsk? Wa's goin' on?"

"Well, as near as I can figure, buddy, you showed up at Huggy's a few hours ago and haven't stopped drinking since. Hug called me to come get you. So I did and here we are." Leaving Hutch slumped on the couch Starsky got up and went into the kitchen to make some coffee.

A few minutes later, hot cup in hand, he returned to where Hutch was still sitting pitched to one side. "Now suppose you tell me what made you decide to drink yourself into oblivion."

"Doesn' matter." Hutch turned away stonily from the proffered cup.

"It matters to _me_." Starsky mollified as he eased down closely beside him.

"No, not partners anymore. I don' matter to you."

Starsky wondered if he'd ever find a way to get used to the jolts that continually came when he least expected them.

"Of course you matter to me." He countered. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Collandra," Hutch mumbled.

"What?"

"Collandra and Haymes girl," Hutch made an obvious effort to speak clearer despite the alcohol swimming through his brain.

"I know you're smashed, but can you at least _try_ to make some sense here?" Starsky handed Hutch the cup and this time he took it from him. Starsky waited patiently for a few minutes until his partner had taken a few slurps, after which his speech seemed to marginally improve. Or maybe Starsky could understand Hutch no matter how he sounded.

"After the Haymes case you changed and you wouldn't tell me why. But I figured it out. It was me all along. " Hutch's eyes became overly bright as he continued with slow and careful annunciation. "I messed up the run. If not for that psychic, the girl would've died. What kind of a detective am I to have to resort to a psychic to solve a case? You thought it was crazy. It was dumb luck that we found that girl." He paused then sniffed. "I embarrassed you, only you didn't want to tell me. That's why you asked for a new partner."

Hutch's words shot through him like high voltage current, squeezing his chest and making it hard to breath. "Oh god, Hutch, no! You got it all wrong!" His gut was on fire. Hutch thought _he_ was the one to blame.

Why hadn't he seen this coming? He, of all people, should have known how his partner would have interpreted his actions. _His_ Hutch, always carrying everyone else's pain, taking on the weight of the world. Trying to live up to self-imposed, impossibly high standards.

Starsky stood and paced across the room to catch his breath, then turned to look at his disheveled partner hunched over the coffee cup. Suddenly, it was like someone had died and his life with Hutch passed before his eyes, images on a movie screen. Hutch in the academy helping a less studious Starsky study for exams, standing by him when Lonnie Craig was shot even when others in the department turned against him, shielding him from seeing Helen's body after Commander Jim had wrapped her in antenna wire, standing alone against the hit men hired to kill Vic Monte in the Italian restaurant after Starsky had been wounded and saving Starsky's life.

The white knight had been tarnished not knowing that it was Polaris who had led him astray all along. The dark-haired man walked back to Hutch and knelt down in front of him, taking the cup from his hands and setting it aside. As he took both of Hutch's large hands back into his he could feel the slight tremors.

"Believe me, babe, you are the best partner, the best _friend,_ anyone could ever have. And you're right. I _have_ been holding out on you." At that, Hutch looked up from their hands and into Starsky's eyes, dark shadows of a photographic negative being held up to the light. 

"Ya see, ya know the old line 'it's me – not you'? Well, this time it's true. There's something you don't know about me, about my family, that I never wanted you to find out." This time it was Starsky's eyes that were overly bright. "But I'll tell you 'cuz it doesn't matter anymore. _You're_ what matters. And if I made you doubt yourself as a cop and a friend, I'm sorry."

Starsky knew Hutch was watching him, listening to him, but after the events of the evening he didn't know how much was really getting through, so he stopped and rose to his feet, guiding Hutch up as well. "But for now you're going to bed."

"What?" Hutch asked, becoming confused again.

"We'll talk in the morning," he said, walking his partner to his bedroom. "You'll feel much better then. You're ready to pass out now as it is and, while you may be able to carry _me _across a room, I doubt I can return the favor."

Starsky guided Hutch into the bedroom and steadied him on the bed. After he helped to unbutton his shirt and pull off his shoes Starsky nearly grinned at the way Hutch fell back heavily onto the blankets. "I _hope_ you feel better in the morning, Blintz, 'cuz you sure did a number tonight."

He turned to walk out when his partner suddenly called out his name, an edge of panic in his voice. "Starks, don't leave!"

"I'm not going anywhere but the couch, dummy," he assured him.

It wasn't enough. "You don' come around anymore. You asked for another partner." The fumbled words may have been alcohol inspired, but Starsky could hear the bleak truth in them. "I don' want you to leave."

Starsky came back to the bed and looked at his partner, now turned limply on his side watching him. In the darkened room, the blue eyes held their own light.

"I'm not going to leave you, babe. You may want to leave _me_, but I'll never leave you." He kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head. Hutch moved over awkwardly, making room as his partner sat down on the bed.

Starsky leaned his back against the headboard and stretched his legs out in front. "And I'll never keep anything from you ever again," he whispered, threading his fingers through the fine hair.

Hutch threw a proprietary arm across Starsky's knees, now satisfied and ready to sleep. "Promise?"

"Promise."

**Chapter 5**

When Hutch woke up late the next morning, Starsky had already been up for hours. The blond stumbled out of the bedroom in half undone jeans, scrubbing at his face with his hands until he saw his partner sitting at the kitchen table, a plate of half-eaten eggs and toast in front of him.

For a minute Hutch didn't know why he was there, but when he remembered the foggy events of the previous night, he groaned. "Still here?" Hutch asked, for lack of anything better to say.

"Said I wouldn't leave, didn't I?" Starsky looked up and gave him a small lopsided grin.

"Oh, right." Hutch stopped, slightly embarrassed.

"Want something to eat?" Starsky asked congenially. "I can't make one of your disgusting breakfast shakes, but you used to like my omelets well enough."

Hutch moved a hand to his stomach. "A glass of juice will be just fine." He reached for a glass in the cupboard, opened the refrigerator and poured out some orange juice. Then he sat down at the table across from Starsky.

They studied each other for a minute or two, each reluctant to speak. Until now, they had always been comfortable in each other's silence. Even bedraggled and hung over, Starsky thought his partner was beautiful, ethereal even.

"We gotta talk," he finally started, his words breaking into the stillness like an ominous roll of thunder preceding a storm.

Hutch just nodded, juice glass in hand, watching him.

"Do you remember what you said last night about thinkin' you were the one who had blown the Haymes case and me wanting a new partner because if it?

"Starsk, you don't have to . . . ." Hutch set the glass down and leaned toward him, splaying his long fingers out on the table.

"Yes, I do," Starsky cut him off. "Because you got it all wrong. You following up with Collandra – it may have sounded a bit crazy but it was really great. _You're_ really great." Their eyes locked. "Because that's what you do. You think out of the box. Put pieces together that other people would just pass over. That's what makes you the brains of this team."

As much as Hutch had ribbed Starsky with that line, he'd never had really taken it seriously. Hutch lowered his head a fraction and his face colored slightly. "Then why _do_ you want a new partner?" he asked softly as if afraid of the answer.

Now that Starsky had started, the words came spilling out like wine from an overturned glass, sure to leave a stain behind. "I'm gonna tell you something that I never wanted you to know. Because once you know the truth, you won't want _me_ for a partner. I just didn't think I could ever take that." It was Starsky's turn look away. In some ways facing the enemy in the army was easier. He had been trained for that. Now he felt unprepared, vulnerable and exposed.

Hutch reached out a hand to lay it on Starsky's arm, enabling his partner to look back to him and continue. "But what I can't take even more is seeing you hurting. Sure, I hate seein' ya get hurt when people take shots at you, but seeing you like you were last night – the finest person I know doubtin' himself 'cuzza _me_ – that's even worse. _I'm_ not worth that." Starsky broke away. He stood and stalked across the room, confusing Hutch with his vehemence.

"Okay, so you weren't as upset by the Haymes case as I thought. But I still don't understand what's bothering you." Hutch got up and moved to shadow his partner, using physical proximity to bolster him. After a few minutes Starsky was able to collect himself again.

"Well, ya may need ta sit back down for this one."

"Okay, let's sit." Hutch directed his partner to the couch by the elbow and sat down, urging Starsky to sit down beside him. "It can't possibly as bad as you think."

Starsky eyed him sideways. "What does the name 'Joe Durniak' say to you?" he quizzed.

"Big time east coast crime boss. So? What does he have to do with us?"

"My dad and Joe grew up together on the same street back in Brooklyn, went to school together and everything. They were tight, ya know?" Starsky kept his down as he spoke, focusing on his hands gripping the tops of his knees.

Hutch didn't need anyone to explain to him what it meant to be 'tight,' with someone. _Just look who he was talking to_, he thought. But Starsky's dad and an organized crime leader? It was an uncomfortable pairing.

"They pooled their money and bought a little corner bar together after they got out of school. Then a few more, then even a couple of restaurants. They did pretty well."

Suddenly, Hutch didn't like where this story was headed but he willed himself to stay quiet and let Starsky talk.

"'Well enough' wasn't enough for Uncle Joe. After a few years he wanted ta take the business in a new direction, if ya know what I mean, and he pushed dad to go along. Well, my dad didn't go in for that kinda life so they eventually split up the business and took their halves separate ways.

Long story short, Joe moved up through the ranks and made a name for himself in organized crime and dad stayed legit. But they still stayed best friends. Because of their friendship, Joe kept the mob away from my dad and my dad never ratted on Joe." Starsky turned to Hutch to gage how he was taking the revelation. "Hard to believe, huh?"

"That two people could be close friends despite being so different?" Hutch smiled affectionately at him. "Not so hard to believe."

"Yeah," Starsky swallowed hard. The story wasn't getting any easier. Hutch felt the storm clouds gather.

"One day, dad had gone to meet Uncle Joe for lunch. As they were walking out of the restaurant a car drove by spraying machine gun fire. It apparently was hit men hired to take out Durniak. Well, my dad . . . " Starsky's voice broke and Hutch laid a hand on top of the hands that gripped Starsky's knees. "My dad pushed Joe down, away from the shooting. But dad was hit instead."

Starsky looked at Hutch, tears welling beneath the violet blue of his eyes. "That's the _real_ story about how my dad died. It wasn't that he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Some random drive by shooting. Dad died protecting Uncle Joe."

_Like father, like son_, thought Hutch. How like a Starsky to put himself in harm's way to protect a friend. Hutch reached out to brush a stray dark curl away from the hurting man's face and he let his hand continue down his cheek, coming away wet.

"Of course, I didn't know all this at the time. Then I was sent away. But I always tried to find out what really happened the day my dad died. Eventually I pieced it together. After I had it all figured out, I got angry. Angry that a good man died protecting someone like Joe Durniak."

Starsky took a steadying breath and wiped the wetness from his face. "After I graduated high school I went back to my dad's grave and made a promise to him right then and there. I promised that I would fix the mistake he made."

"Mistake?" asked Hutch.

"Like I said. I was angry that he chose to protect a friend rather than let the bad guys take the fall they deserved. I blamed his damn loyalty as much as I blamed the mob for killin' him. I promised I'd never make the same mistake."

"That's why you joined the army," Hutch understood enough of his motivations to finish the story for him. "And why you became a cop."

Starsky nodded. "I wanted to do something to protect the people who couldn't protect themselves from the Joe Durniaks. I wanted to make things right."

"Why haven't you told me this before?"

"Would you have wanted me for a friend – for a _partner_ – if you'da known my family's ties to a major crime figure?" Starsky vividly recalled Minnesota's original fair-haired boy at the police academy. It took a week of cajoling to get the blond to even to talk to him. "Joe Durniak paid for my dad's _funeral _for crissake!"

"Do you think any of that matters to me?" Hutch pressed.

Starsky smiled at the so typically Hutch-like response, but then shook his head sadly. "It's not that simple, Hutch. When you were shot at during the Haymes case, I lost my head for a minute." Hutch looked at him and knew he what was going to say, wishing like hell he could stop him.

"I blew that car away because of you. I thought those guys had taken you away from me and I was going to make them pay. It wasn't about the girl anymore. It was all about _you_." Starsky's blue eyes bore into Hutch's own, lightning arcing between them.

"As much as I tried to make up for what my dad had done out of his loyalty to Joe Durniak, I knew if I continued to be partnered with you, I'd go down the same road. Makin' choices for the wrong reasons." It wasn't hard for Starsky to admit to Hutch how much he meant to him, but it was devastating to admit how it made him feel flawed. A Dr. Jekyll waiting for Mr. Hyde to emerge.

"Aw, Stark," Hutch admonished him, squeezing his knee gently. "Punishing yourself isn't going to change the fact that the good guys lost and the bad guys won the one time it counted the most for you. But you can't change the choice your father made. Maybe he wouldn't even have wanted to change it. That's his story to tell.

"But that's not what happened with Joanna Haymes. The good guys won. That's us – the good guys. Remember?" Hutch could see his words only ricochet off the walls Starsky had hunkered himself behind with little effect.

"You're angry at your father and can't to do anything about it because he's gone and you're still here." Hutch risked to say.

Starsky's glare warned Hutch he was treading on dangerous ground, but Hutch didn't back down. It wasn't in their nature to play it safe. "Fine then. Hang onto your anger if that's what you want. But don't push it off on me!"

Hutch took his hand away, got up and stalked across the room. Starsky watched him with fascinated dread to see what kind of alien had taken over his partner's body. "Where do you get off saying something like that?"

Hutch turned and pointed his finger at him, the kind of gesture one never wanted to be on the receiving end of. "Do you think I like being the pawn in your game of partner Russian roulette? Just spin the chamber and see what comes out? Should I remind you who the barrel's pointed at?

It's not up to you to make a decision alone that affects both of us. I still have some say in the matter. The way I see it, it's 'who do we trust' time." Hutch dared Starsky to turn away. It was a good thing he knew how Starsky responded to a dare.

"How can you possibly want to stay partners after what I've told you?" Starsky walked up to him and pushed his hand away. "I'm not worth it. You have a chance to really go far in your career. How far do you think a detective could go if it becomes public knowledge his dad was best friends with a crime boss? After everything I've put you through . . . "

Before Starsky could get another word out, Hutch reached out and grasped his arms painfully.

"Do you really think I'd want anyone else for a partner? That I could have anything better than what I have with you right now?" As Starsky grasped for words, Hutch pressed on. "But just to be clear, if I had to choose between protecting you or getting the bad guy, what choice would you have me make?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"A question you need to hear the answer."

"The answer is, I'd want you to do your job – get the bad guy. It's what we do, it's who we are."

"Okay, then. And if you ever had to make the same choice, you'd know what I'd want."

The truth revealed itself like the sun emerging from an eclipse. "Yeah." Maybe Starsky still had something to learn about loyalty after all.

"Just so we know where we stand." Hutch's ice melted into pools of blue and their eyes communicated what they couldn't put into words. What they meant to each other and what they were willing to sacrifice. An unspoken pact.

"No regrets?"

"Never, babe."

"Well, when you put it that way. . . " He was smiling openly now, that cocky, ear-to-ear Starsky smile.

"Monday we'll go and talk to Dobey. Together. We'll tell him about your father and Joe Durniak. Under the circumstance I don't see how that would make any difference to the department. But even if something should come of it, we'll handle it together." When Starsky would have stopped him, Hutch returned the stern finger. "No more private parties."

Starsky relented with a sigh. Maybe some things were beyond his power to change, but he had Hutch back and for now all was right with the world.

**CHAPTER 6**

Captain Dobey hoped the fact that the blond and brunet had walked in together and on time for once meant he might be able to cut back on the heartburn medicine for a while. When they asked, with matching grim faces, to see him in his office, leaving Detective Robertson on his own in the squad room, his hope was quickly dashed. Starsky proceeded Hutch into the office and sat down on the vinyl chair. Hutch followed and perched on the arm.

"Well, now what is it?" He demanded.

"Cap'n, Hutch and I talked it over and I . . . we . . . think there's something you should know."

Starsky could feel his partner to his side allowing him to take control of the moment yet ready to back him up. Still, he couldn't help but feel like a man mounting the scaffold to the hangman's noose. At least this time he knew someone would be there to catch him should the bottom drop out.

He proceeded to relate the story of his father and Joe Durniak up to the point where his father had been killed. When Starsky came to a stop, the big man leaned back in his chair, its frame creaking loudly in protest of the weight. He twisted a pencil his hand as he studied Starsky then looked to his partner. The telltales seemed to be operational once more. Hutch hadn't so much as lifted an eyebrow, his posture protective.

"Why haven't you said anything about this before?"

"It's not exactly the kind of thing you talk about around the water cooler. How 'bout that game last night and by the way, did 'ja hear about my dad and Joe Durniak?"

"Starsk," Hutch cautioned.

Dobey's gaze swung back to the blond.

"And you knew nothing about this?" Hutch shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.

"No, he didn't," Starsky interjected. "Not until a few days ago."

"Well what do you want me to do with this information?"

"Whatever you think is best." Starsky answered flatly.

"If everything you said is accurate – and I have no reason to believe otherwise –" Dobey leaned forward and looked squarely at Starsky, "the only action I feel it necessary to take at this time is to make a note of it in your file. From now on this matter is on a 'need to know' basis." He huffed with official finality then felt the tension leak away from the room.

"Except for one thing." _Uh oh_, Starsky thought. _Here comes the catch_.

"Your partner deserves to know about this."

"What do you mean?" Hutch cut in. "Starsky's already told me everything."

"You're not his partner anymore, Hutchinson. Or did you forget about that?"

"With all due respect, Captain, Starsky and I _are_ partners. We don't want it any other way."

Dobey looked from one man to the other, acknowledging with an exasperated shake of his head that it had never really mattered what the rooster said anyway. He got up and walked over to open the office door. Leaning his head out into the squad room he shouted, "Robertson, get in here!"

Starsky felt an electric current surge through his arm as Hutch's hand latched onto his shoulder. A wound cauterized, a heartbeat restored to its proper rhythm. _ Thank you for being there to rescue me. _Were the words spoken aloud and if so, by whom? Or did it even matter?


End file.
